


Taking Flight

by galerian_ash



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Fights, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-CA:TWS, Protectiveness, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 17:10:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1786738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galerian_ash/pseuds/galerian_ash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Bucky tried to help Steve get over his fear of flying, and failed — and the one time he succeeded without trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Flight

**I**

Something was bothering Steve.

Bucky picked up on it within minutes of the plane taking off; the realization causing an odd swell of satisfaction in his chest. He remembered his past, now, but there were times when things got blurry — and it was _good_ to get a verification like this. Good to know he could still remember the way Steve's fingers twitched, almost imperceptibly, when he was too tightly wound.

He'd always wondered if it was some unconscious mimicry of drawing. Had never asked, though, just like he'd never reached out to grip Steve's hand — soothing the nervous motion in a reassuring hold.

Bucky glanced over at Sam Wilson and Hodges — the former SHIELD agent whose first name he'd dismissed as a useless fact. They were talking eagerly, voices quiet enough to make it impossible to overhear. He spent a few moments reading their lips, pleased to discover that their discussion had nothing to do with Steve, but rather some recent development in a TV series they both watched.

They _should_ be preparing for the upcoming mission, really, but it was not his place to reprimand them. Besides, chances were that they'd find another abandoned Hydra facility, just like they had on the previous two outings.

And that was the thing: This wasn't Steve's first mission with Bucky.

Had it been, he would've understood it. It would've made _sense_ for Steve to be uneasy, not knowing whether or not Bucky could be trusted.

He'd expected that, had known he would have to prove himself — prove that he wouldn't revert to being the Winter Soldier and start slaughtering innocent people. Prove that he'd watch Steve's back, as opposed to shooting him from behind.

But there had been nothing of the sort; Steve had just looked _happy_ to have him there. Nothing else — no fear, no distrust, nothing.

It had hurt, in ways he still couldn't quite understand.

Bucky got to his feet, making a show of stretching for the benefit of Wilson and Hodges. He sauntered over to Steve, who was in the very end of the cargo hold.

"Everything alright?"

There was a slight jerk in Steve's shoulders, betraying his surprise. And that was bad, because Bucky had made no attempt whatsoever to make a silent approach. Steve turned around, teeth bared in a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Bucky, hi. I'm just — checking the equipment. It's all good."

He'd been doing nothing of the sort, but Bucky didn't challenge the lie. He simply leaned against the wall and waited.

After a while, Steve deflated. "You know me too well," he muttered.

"Spill."

"It's not a big deal. Honest, you don't need to-"

"If you don't want to tell me, I can go get Wilson." It was almost physically painful, the notion that Steve would be able to open up to Wilson — but not to Bucky. Still, he wanted to help, and if that was what he had to do, then so be it.

Steve's eyebrows drew together, sadness clouding his eyes. "Oh, _Buck_. Don't think that. He's my friend, yes, but — if it was something I couldn't tell you, then I wouldn't be telling anyone, period. Okay?"

Bucky carefully memorized everything, from the words themselves to the cadence of Steve's voice. He'd lock it inside of him, somewhere deep down, where no one could ever take it from him. He'd remember it all, for the sake of looking back on it on a dark day.

"Okay," he finally said, tonelessly. He wanted to say more, it wasn't that, but this wasn't about him. This was about Steve, and he needed to focus. It was a mission, more important than anything else. "Then tell me, please."

"I just... I don't like flying."

Bucky frowned. That was news to him; Steve had never shown any signs of — ah, wait. The crash in the Arctic. That had to be it.

"It's dumb," Steve continued, "because it's not like it even hurt me all that bad. I simply had to wait for a while, until I... froze." He grimaced, casting a quick look Bucky's way, as if he expected him to throw a fit over the mere mention of that word.

And now that, _that_ was dumb. It was ridiculous for Steve to even think it could be compared. What did it matter that Bucky had been put into cryo-freeze, time and time again? He'd been an empty shell — a killing machine without a conscience, a mere thing that did whatever it was told. Steve had been a good man, and he'd been all alone in that damn plane, unable to do anything but wait to die.

"It's not dumb at all," he said, quietly. Part of him wished he had gotten Wilson after all, because he surely would've known what to say. Known how to _help_.

"It's not a big deal, Bucky. So don't worry about it, okay?"

"Maybe try talking to me? To take your mind off it, I mean." It was an idiotic thing to say, and he cursed at himself the second it escaped his mouth.

"I always talk to you, Buck," Steve said, a tender smile curling his lips.

Bucky grunted, feeling like a fool. Why the hell would it help to talk to him, anyway? Seventy years ago, perhaps, but not now.

"Hey," Steve said, voice suddenly very serious. "It does help."

Clearly not enough. But he wasn't about to say that, knowing how Steve could get. He shrugged instead, before turning and walking back to his seat.

Steve didn't follow.

\----

**II**

The Hydra facility wasn't so much abandoned, as it was non-existent.

Perhaps it had existed, decades ago, but what had once been a deserted area was now the bustling outskirts of a city. Fury had still felt it was worth checking into, but it was pretty clear that his judgment had been severely impacted by the lack of SHIELD-verified intel.

Hodges had ran ahead to tell the pilot they'd be taking off sooner than expected, and Wilson had suggested they buy some food before heading back. He and Steve were walking a few paces ahead of Bucky, having an animated conversation about which sort of food to choose.

Bucky listened with one ear — Wilson wanted to get some local specialty, but Steve was hesitant. "We should get something we're familiar with," he said, lowering his voice before continuing. "The plane doesn't have a toilet, remember?"

Wilson let out a bark of laughter at that, prompting Steve to give him a friendly shove.

It reminded Bucky of Brooklyn, so many years ago. Steve had used to push him like that, whenever he'd said or done something silly. His thin arms had barely stood a chance of budging Bucky, but he'd always gone through the motions; stumbling to the side, and putting on a wounded look until Steve gave in, and forgave him for whatever nonsense he'd pulled.

Steve had barely touched him since he'd gotten his memories back. It made sense, of course, wanting to maintain a certain distance to the man who'd repeatedly tried to kill you. Still, seeing the camaraderie between Steve and Wilson, all the while knowing it was something he'd never be able to regain...

It felt bad.

Wilson must've said something particularly noteworthy, for Steve turned his head to look back at Bucky. Whatever he saw in Bucky's face was apparently a disappointment, as his grin faltered.

"What?" Bucky asked, not knowing what else to say. He felt like apologizing, but that wouldn't have made any sense.

"Nothing," Steve mumbled, forcing his grin to widen. He turned back to Wilson, and resumed their argument.

Bucky took a deep breath, tuning out their voices in favor of fully focusing on their surroundings. There were plenty of stores around, selling everything from flowers to shoes.

It was the toy store that caught his attention. He slowed his steps, coming to a complete stop in front of the window display. There was a small chess set in the center, with a colorful sign next to it, reading: 'Magnetic chess set! Perfect for travel!'

Bucky glanced at Steve and Wilson, already far ahead in the crowd, before stepping into the store.

He made his purchase quickly, relieved that the store clerk apparently didn't care to chit-chat. Plastic bag gripped in his left hand, he stepped out of the store and nearly collided with Steve.

"Bucky! Where did you go? You just disappeared, I-"

Feeling defensive, Bucky cut him off. "I didn't do anything bad," he said, hand tightening around the bag until the metal creaked.

"What? No, that's not — Bucky, _no_. I didn't think that at all."

"Sure," Bucky muttered, shouldering his way past Steve. 'That's why you came _running_ to find me,' he wanted to add, but didn't.

There was no point in starting an argument — he was in the wrong, and he knew it. Steve had every reason to be wary; Bucky woke him every other night by screaming, and there were times where a sudden memory would just smack into him, leaving him utterly disoriented.

If anything he should be grateful that Steve was so vigilant.

They walked in silence — Steve following him, lagging a few steps behind. He was out of sight, but that didn't stop Bucky from feeling his presence, like a flame licking at his spine.

Wilson was waiting for them, looking relieved for all of two seconds before he apparently got a better look at them.

"Steve, why don't you go and buy us some food from that place," he said, pointing to a restaurant just ahead.

"Sure." Steve moved past him, only to hesitate and glance back. "Is there anything in particular you want, or don't want, Bucky?"

"Don't get me anything. I'm not hungry."

"Oh. Then I'll wait, too — we can make something when we get home."

As usual, that one little word made something inside of Bucky _ache_. He wished he could ask Steve to stop using it.

Knowing better than to wait for confirmation, Steve took off at an easy jog. Wilson watched him go, shaking his head slightly.

"Did something happen?"

The question was expected, what with the obvious manner he'd sent Steve away. Still, it grated on Bucky's nerves. "No," he said, calmly.

"Uh-huh. Steve has that kicked puppy look again, and you look about ready to strangle someone with your bare hands. But nothing happened."

"Look," Bucky snapped, "I know you expect me to flip out at any given moment, and that's _fine_ , it really is, but..." he trailed off. Funny thing, he didn't even know what it was he wanted to say. He wouldn't ever ask for their trust, knowing full well he didn't deserve it, which left — nothing. There was nothing he _could_ say.

Wilson gave him an indecipherable look. "I think you got it wrong. Steve was worried about you. Worried about you," he repeated, putting emphasis on each word. " Not about you flipping out, as you so succinctly put it, but just you in general. Hell, I was too!"

That was extremely hard to believe, and something in Bucky's demeanor must've made that clear. Wilson let out a low chuckle. "I can wait. But I'd like to be your friend, Barnes. Lemme know when you're ready for that."

"I'm... I'm gonna go ahead, to the plane."

Wilson grimaced. "Please don't. Steve will have my ass if he thinks I scared you off. So stick around, please? I'll owe you one."

Bucky swallowed. "Okay."

A few minutes later, Steve returned. The first thing he did when stepping through the restaurant door was look at Bucky, as if making sure he was alright — Bucky probably wouldn't have understood it, if it hadn't been for Wilson's words. He felt self-conscious, but forced himself to return Steve's gaze.

He was rewarded by a sunny smile. Then Steve turned to Wilson, holding up two bags. "Got Alice something safe, but you? You, my friend, are getting the Danger Surprise."

"It's not actually called that, is it?" Wilson snorted.

"You'll just have to wait and find out, won't you?"

They walked to the plane in companionable silence, Steve handing Hodges her safe dish as soon as they got on the plane. She and Wilson dug in immediately, while Steve drifted off to the cargo hold, again.

Bucky followed him.

"How are you holding up?" he asked, though the answer was evident in the rigidness of Steve's back.

"Sorry," Steve said, sheepishly. "You really don't have to worry about it, honest."

Bucky sank down to sit cross-legged on the floor. He patted the space in front of him, and Steve followed suit without hesitation.

"So," he drawled, suddenly feeling a bit nervous, "I picked something up in the city."

"Yeah, I saw the bag," Steve said. "I won't deny that I'm pretty curious about it."

That made things a bit easier. Bucky reached into the bag and pulled out the chess set. "We used to play, back in the day. I figured — maybe it could help you get your mind off things."

Steve had grown very still, and for a second Bucky was convinced he'd done or said something wrong. Then Steve raised his arms, rocking forward to engulf Bucky in a clumsy hug.

He was unable to stop a sharp intake of air, but he _did_ manage to quell the reflexive urge to make a grab for his knife.

Steve backed off immediately. "Sorry, sorry," he said.

Bucky was the one who wanted to apologize. Apologize, and say stupid shit like 'I can do better, give me another chance, _please_ ' — wanting to feel those arms around him again. It was the first hug he'd been given in seventy years.

"Wanna be white?" Steve offered, interrupting the chaotic swirl in Bucky's head.

"That — that a challenge, punk?" He remembered this, the particular banter they'd shared whenever playing chess. They had been fairly evenly matched, and always took turns offering up the position as white; turning it into a jibe, an implication that a handicap was needed in order to make it a fair match.

Steve grinned. "You know it, jerk."

Wanting to preserve Steve's happy grin, Bucky went for a Scholar's Mate. Steve spotted it right away, amusement sparkling in his eyes.

"It's been a while since I last played, but I'm not _that_ rusty, Buck."

"It was worth a try."

And for a few minutes, it seemed like it would work. Steve was relaxed, focused on the game and clearly enjoying himself. Then the plan lurched, hitting some turbulence — and he went pale.

"Good thing it's magnetic," Steve said, chuckling weakly. "Otherwise the pieces would've been all over the place."

They kept playing, but the peace Steve had managed to find had been torn down. His hand shook, ever so slightly, when he made his moves, and sweat beaded on his forehead despite the coolness of the cargo hold.

Bucky won, easily. But it brought him no satisfaction, knowing that he'd lost the underlying battle — the one he had truly desired to win.

\----

**III**

"He drew his own hunting knife, brand new from the shop and shining. 'Say, let's wrestle, and cut out this ten-twenty-and-thirty knife stuff.'

"'I want your ears,' the stranger answered pleasantly, as he slowly advanced.

"'Sure. First down, and the man who wins the fall gets the other fellow's ears.'

"'Agreed.' The young man in the canvas trousers sheated-"

Bucky stopped, mid-sentence, in favor of grabbing his canteen and taking a long swig. Damn, but he'd forgotten how dry his throat would get when reading out loud.

He stealthily glanced at Steve, sitting next to him, to gauge his reaction. He was still tense, fingers drumming against his thigh.

Another failure, then. Recapturing their shared past clearly wasn't going to cut it — not by playing chess, and not by reading to Steve. He'd even picked one of their favorites, one he'd read to Steve several times, during the long nights where Steve's breath had rattled like a broken exhaust pipe.

Maybe Steve didn't remember.

"That's it for now," Bucky muttered, closing the book.

"What? You can't stop there!" Wilson immediately complained. "I wanna know what happens to their ears."

"Here," Bucky said, tossing him the book. "Read it for yourself."

"This was a good idea, Bucky. I really liked listening to you," Hodges said. It was the first time she called him by name, and she sounded a bit shy about it. "You have a nice voice."

He saw Steve stiffening in his peripheral vision, and answered her absently. "Not as nice as yours."

Wilson whistled, and Hodges face grew pink. It took him a few seconds to realize that he'd slipped back into his old pre-war persona — the one who remembered how to flirt with ladies. He hadn't meant anything by it; he'd been distracted by Steve, and his mind had merely chosen an appropriate reply, based on past experience. The Winter Soldier sure as hell didn't have any experience in that department. That creature had never uttered a single kind word to anyone, man or woman.

Steve got to his feet. His hands were clenched at his sides, so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. "Excuse me," he ground out.

That said, he marched towards the cockpit. He knocked politely but stepped inside without waiting for an answer, closing the door behind him.

There was an empty co-pilot chair in there for him to sit in, Bucky knew, but it'd still be a tight fit — neither Steve nor the pilot were small men. There would definitely not be any room in there for him.

Steve couldn't have made it any clearer if he'd so slapped Bucky. His presence was unwanted.

Wilson and Hodges were talking to him. He answered them without even really knowing what he was saying, mind desperately trying to understand what he'd done wrong.

\----

**IV**

The mission was unsatisfactory. Not that it didn't go well — the hostage situation was cleared up quickly, and without any innocent bloodshed — but he was left out of the fight entirely. He and Hodges were assigned to sniping positions, while Steve and Wilson went toe-to-toe with the terrorists. It was a delicate situation, Fury had said, one that needed to be handled discreetly.

Apparently Bucky had been unwanted there, too.

Steve looked over at him and Hodges when they met up again, on the airstrip. His eyes narrowed before he quickly turned away. Whatever Bucky had done to make him angry was clearly still on his mind.

Bucky needed to fix it.

He spent the initial ten minutes of the flight carefully debating the best course of action. The old Bucky Barnes would've joked and teased, playfully begging Steve to forgive him — but it was doubtful if that would work now. And, more importantly, he really didn't think he could pull it off. It was one thing to remember the past, and another entirely to actually _be_ that person.

But the Winter Soldier had experience, as well. Failed missions that had earned him the ire of his handlers, not to mention the way he'd angered them by fighting back in the very beginning, before they'd managed to rip that out of him.

Their methods had differed — some had simply beaten him to a pulp, while others used more refined methods to break him — but the cure to their displeasure had always been the same: Pain. They got to hurt him enough, and they'd forgive him for his mistakes.

Steve wasn't like them, he _knew_ that, but... He didn't know what else to do. And physical pain was a small price to pay, if it meant Steve would smile at him again.

Taking a deep breath, he got to his feet and went to stand in front of Steve. "Spar with me," he said.

Steve frowned. "I don't-"

"I was keyed up for a fight. I need to..." he trailed off, hoping it'd sound ominous. It wasn't true — he'd had enough of fighting to last a hundred lifetimes — but that didn't matter.

"Alright, if that's what you need," Steve said. There was a note of worry in his voice, and oh, how badly Bucky wished that worry had been directed at him. He knew better, though. Steve was probably just worried that, if left unchecked, Bucky would somehow smash up the plane and send them crashing to earth.

He felt a bit bad about that, what with Steve's pre-existing problem. But if he was really lucky, the sparring might also serve to distract Steve and take his mind off his fear of flying.

"Uh, guys...?" Wilson said. He sounded very apprehensive about the whole thing, and Bucky could hardly blame him.

"It's okay, Sam." Steve's voice was calm and utterly confident.

Bucky gave Wilson and Hodges a curt nod, hoping to convey the same sort of assurance. Turning, he walked to the cargo hold and began clearing a decent-sized space for them.

Steve closed the door, waiting patiently till Bucky was satisfied.

"Let's go," he said, falling into a crouch. He didn't expect Steve to attack first, so he'd have to draw out his fighting instincts.

He rushed forward, making no attempt to disguise his movements. Steve blocked his punches easily, and he slowly stepped up his speed and the force of his blows. After a while Steve dropped out of his defensive position and began hitting back — but they were all weak, half-hearted punches, and so Bucky blocked them all.

Ducking one high blow, he dropped down to come up beside Steve, trying to grab him for a throw. Steve sidestepped it, and finally — finally — threw a punch with some real weight behind it.

Bucky made no attempt to defend, allowing the fist to smash into his face and send him staggering back.

Steve's eyes went wide, horrified. "Jesus! Why didn't you block?!" He moved forward, hand rising towards Bucky's face.

He tasted blood, and knew his nose was possibly broken. But it wasn't enough. Steve needed to work out his anger at Bucky, and this tiny bit of damage was nowhere near enough. "Keep going," he said, voice coming out oddly strangled.

"What? Bucky, _no_ ," Steve replied. He reached out, but let his hand fall when Bucky stepped back. "Easy, it's okay. I won't hurt you."

"I want you to," Bucky snarled, frustration starting to rise. No matter what he tried to do, it never fucking worked out.

"Buck, hey... It's me, it's Steve."

"I know who you are, dammit." Realizing it was a lost cause, Bucky got out of his fighting stance. He bent his head, dispassionately staring at the drops of blood that immediately begun staining the floor.

"I'm gonna move forward now, and I'm gonna touch you. Okay? Tell me if you want me to stop, and I will."

Bucky let out a bark of laughter, but even to his own ears it sounded more like a sob. He was such a goddamn failure, pathetic, pathetic, _pathetic_.

"Shh, it's okay." Steve's hand entered his field of vision, gently gripping his chin and lifting his head.

Steve looked at him, nothing but gentle warmth and concern shining out of his eyes. His fingers trailed up Bucky's jaw to carefully prod at his nose.

"Don't think it's broken," he said after a moment. "Thank God for that, at least."

"What does it matter?" Bucky mumbled. "It'll heal, however bad the break."

Steve let his hand linger on Bucky's face, despite having finished his examination. It moved to gently cup his cheek, thumb slowly stroking the skin. "That's not the point, Buck."

He couldn't help it, he had to ask. Had to know. "Are you not angry at me anymore?"

The stroking stilled, a look of confusion flickering through Steve's eyes. "Angry? What do you mean?"

"I did s-something to upset you. I'm sorry, please — please forgive me."

And there it was. It was all said and done, now. If Steve turned him away that'd be it; he had nothing left to offer.

Steve looked even more confused, before he suddenly let out a gasp. He snatched his hand away, as if Bucky had burned him. "You... you did it on _purpose_. You didn't defend yourself, because you thought I was angry. You let me hurt you as some sort of twisted atonement."

Bucky shrunk back. It'd been the wrong thing to do, and he'd _known_ it — the old Bucky Barnes had known better, but he'd been too stupid to listen. He'd blown it; had ruined the one good thing in his wretched life.

The arms that slipped around his body were entirely unexpected, as was the way Steve pulled him close, tucking Bucky's head against his shoulder.

"I wasn't angry with you before," Steve said, softly. "And I'm not angry with you now either. I promise, okay? I know I acted weird, but it wasn't your fault. I just — I came to realize something, that's all."

Not daring to push his luck, Bucky didn't ask what it was he'd realized.

"It won't happen again, I swear. But you gotta promise me something as well."

"Anything," Bucky said, desperately meaning it.

One of Steve's hands trailed up his spine to pet his head, fingers running through his long hair. "Don't ever do anything like this again. Hurting you will _never_ bring me joy. Do you understand, Bucky? This is really, really important. You matter more to me than anything else, and I do not want to hurt you."

There was a strange stinging sensation in Bucky's eyes, and it felt impossible to speak. He nodded instead, knowing Steve would feel the movement against his shoulder.

"Thank you," Steve said.

They stood like that for a while, until Bucky trusted his voice enough to speak. "I've gotten blood on your shirt," he mumbled. Tears and snot as well, but he wasn't about to admit that.

"I don't care."

"...Okay."

\----

**V**

Fury called, a mere two days later. A former Hydra member had reached out, wanting to ease his conscience by giving them information about a still-active base in Murmansk.

It was to be a simple meeting on neutral ground, nothing more. His only stipulation was that Captain America came alone — he would trust no one else. Steve apparently didn't think that screamed _trap_ , and readily agreed.

Bucky dug in his heels and refused to stay behind. If he had to he'd sneak onto the plane, and he made that abundantly clear.

In the end, Steve gave in. There was a fond smile on his face when he agreed, speaking volumes.

And so they found themselves back on the plane. It was just the two of them this time, which almost felt a bit empty. It came as a surprise; the realization that somewhere along the way, he'd gotten used to both Wilson and Hodges. He wouldn't refer to either as friends, but he was comfortable being around them — didn't need to closely follow their every movement, body coiled and ready to fight. That was extremely rare, these days.

It made him feel almost human again.

But it was nothing compared to the way Steve made him feel. Unable to stop himself from smiling, he turned his head to look at his sole companion.

Steve's back was ramrod straight, hands clenched around the edges of the bench.

Unfortunately, Bucky was fresh out of ideas. He had no idea how to help, however much he wanted to. But maybe it didn't take some grand plan — maybe it was enough to just be there. He remembered the way he'd felt when Steve had held him, after their disastrous sparring match. He'd felt protected, like nothing in the world could ever hurt him again.

He couldn't remember being quite so nervous before, but he forced himself through it. Slowly, he lifted his hand and put it on top of Steve's.

Steve jerked slightly, clearly caught off guard, before growing very still. It didn't even seem like he was breathing.

That was perhaps not the best of signs, but Bucky wasn't about to quit halfway. He gently tugged Steve's hand away from its death-grip on the bench, and laced their fingers together.

Steve took a shaky breath, squeezing Bucky's hand. He squeezed back, relieved that his touch wasn't unwelcome.

After a few minutes he moved his thumb to Steve's wrist, in order to feel his pulse. His heart was racing. If it weren't for Steve holding on to his hand so tightly, he would've thought that it was actually having an adverse effect; Steve having grown more rigid and sweaty since he'd initiated the contact.

It was another failure, yet Bucky couldn't bring himself to let go.

\----

**+I**

"I don't like this."

"Yeah, I know — but he _is_ alone, there's no one else around for miles."

That was true, but it did nothing to ease Bucky's mind. The former Hydra member had requested to meet by an abandoned warehouse on the edge of a forest, and that in and of itself was suspicious — if he had no ulterior motives, why couldn't they have met up in a public place? Steve had thought it a good thing, however, as the isolated spot meant no civilians stood a chance of getting hurt.

"Hey," Steve said, "how about y-"

"No."

"No what? You didn't even let me finish!"

"I know what you were about to say," Bucky growled, "and my answer is _no_. I will not stay behind."

"I didn't mean to imply anything," Steve muttered, "so don't get mad. I just thought it'd be a good idea to leave someone in a sniping position, in case your hunch is right."

Bucky closed his eyes, seeing a sea of flames in front of him. The anger he'd felt back then, when Steve had told him to go and just get out of there on his own, was a perfect match to the way he felt now.

"We're going together, or not at all," he said, quietly.

Something in Steve's eyes softened. He extended a hand, clasping Bucky's shoulder. "Then let's go, pal."

They approached him from behind, silently moving until they were close enough to speak without having to shout.

"Popov, I presume?"

At the sound of Steve's voice Popov jumped. He turned around with a big smile plastered on his face. "Ah, Captain America, I did not hear..." he trailed off as his eyes moved to Bucky.

Beside him, Steve shifted — and for a second Bucky was certain that he was about to make some ludicrous apology over not having come alone. Maybe he would've, if it weren't for the fact that Popov chose that moment to draw his gun.

"Don't move!" Popov screamed, when he spotted Steve's hand moving towards the shield strapped to his back.

He was too far away for Bucky to be able to rush him — the gun was pointed unwaveringly at Steve, and that wasn't a risk he was willing to take. His best bet was distracting Popov, getting him to change his target, and then throw a knife.

"I don't know how you figured out my plan," Popov said, a rising note of hysteria in his voice, "my cover was flawless — but what truly surprises me is that you brought that _thing_ along. You feel sorry for it? Want to let it get its revenge on me?"

"What did you call him?" Steve said, voice dangerously low. He took a step forward, hands clenching at his sides.

Popov's finger began to squeeze the trigger, prompting Bucky to reach out and grab Steve's arm. "Don't," he warned.

"They should've put you down ages ago," Popov screeched.

And the ironic thing was, Bucky didn't remember him. He could've been a doctor, a handler, a technician, or perhaps merely the guy who put the bite guard in his mouth — he didn't have the slightest idea which. Whatever Popov's plan had been, it could've succeeded if he hadn't assumed that Bucky recognized him.

But it was in his best interest to play into that delusion. He needed to taunt Popov, get him to focus his anger — and the gun — on him. "Yeah," he snarled, "they should've. Why don't you rectify that? Give it your best shot, you sad piece of shit."

Steve let out a strangled noise of protest, and Popov roared. The gun swerved towards him — and that was all Bucky needed. He grabbed his best throwing knife, knowing he'd only get one chance, and lifted his hand at the same time Popov squeezed the trigger.

The shot rang out as Steve's body slammed into him, screwing up his aim and causing the knife to embed in Popov's shoulder instead of his eye socket.

Steve went down.

And it was okay — it was okay, because Bucky had shot him three times and he'd been _fine_ , so he could survive this, too. It was okay, it was-

There was blood all over Steve's face.

A headshot was bound to be fatal, even for a super-soldier. There was no coming back from that.

Things got hazy.

Someone was screaming, guttural and terrible. But it couldn't be Steve, because he was dead; and it couldn't be Popov, because he was lying at Bucky's feet with his throat torn out, body still twitching in its death throes.

His metal hand was coated in blood, more red than silver, but it wasn't _enough_ — the heart, he had to rip out the heart as well, and then he'd break the spine, and-

"Bucky, hey, hey, _look at me_."

The voice didn't belong, had no place there at all. He should ignore it, should focus on his mission, but — maybe, just maybe...

He couldn't seem to breathe properly, breath hitching in his raw throat. He felt like throwing up, but he forced himself to turn around.

Steve stood there, one hand pressed to his temple, the other held out towards Bucky.

"Yeah, that's it," he said. "Just try breathe, okay? Can I touch you? I'm gonna move closer now, keep breathing, easy, easy."

Bucky's legs gave out. He fell to his knees, retching. Then Steve was there, crouching in front of him. He put a hand on Bucky's back, rubbing up and down.

"Just keep breathing, everything's alright now."

And it wasn't, it really wasn't — he'd come _that_ close to losing Steve forever. He forced his body to obey him, and lifted his right hand towards Steve's bloodied face.

Steve understood. He gingerly removed his hand to let Bucky see the wound, grimacing all the while.

It was a nasty gash across his temple; probably needed a couple of stitches. But it wasn't anywhere near fatal.

"I thought..." he croaked.

"Hey now, you know how it is with scalp wounds. They bleed a lot, so they almost always look worse than they really are. I'm fine, I promise." Steve gave him a cocky grin, reminding Bucky of the way he'd looked back in Brooklyn, after he'd gotten his ass handed to him in some harebrained fight.

He was fine, yes, but he could've just as well been dead. Nothing but luck had kept him alive, Bucky knew that, knew his own failure to protect him.

He needed to do better, and he'd start immediately. Pushing everything down — every single distracting emotion — he called up the single-minded focus of the Winter Soldier. His mission was to get Steve to safety. Nothing else mattered, least of all the amount of bodies he might have to step over in order to achieve his goal. "There might be reinforcements coming. We need to go, _now_ ," he said.

Steve didn't protest.

The best course of action would be to go ahead and clear the way, but that would mean having to leave Steve to fend for himself. That wasn't acceptable.

"Stick close to me," Bucky ordered as they began to move out.

Perhaps Steve understood his mindset, for he kept silent and did everything he was told. He didn't even voice any objections when Bucky shoved him into a tall bush, put on edge by a glint off in the distance that could very well have been a rifle scope.

"Stay."

"Bucky, wait. Just... be careful, okay?"

The words clashed with his persona — no one had ever said anything like that to the Winter Soldier — and for a second it was difficult to keep the emotions at bay. Biting down on his tongue until he tasted blood did the trick, and he set off running without answering the request.

He made a wide circle around the potential sniper, coming up from behind only to find the remnants of a broken bottle.

Heart thudding painfully in his chest — it could've been a ruse to lure him away from Steve — he raced back to the bush, foregoing any attempt at stealth.

Steve stepped out as he drew near. There were a couple of leaves stuck in his bloodied hair, making Bucky's fingers itch with the urge to reach up and carefully pluck them away.

"It was nothing. Let's go," he said.

Steve nodded.

The made it through the rest of the forest without further incident. They got on the plane, and as soon as they were airborne Bucky took a deep breath, trying to rid himself of his old self. The mission was over; there was no more need for the Winter Soldier.

"Now that we're back, can you please try to relax? You're so tense and high-strung that I can't help but worry that you'll explode or something." Steve said it with levity, almost jokingly — and Bucky saw red.

He'd explode, alright.

"What the hell were you thinking?"

Steve frowned. "Buck..."

"No, don't 'Buck' me. You stepped right in front of that bullet, the fuck were you thinking?"

"I just — I heal faster than you."

"Like hell you do! That's bullshit, Steve."

"Fine," Steve snapped, anger starting to seep into his voice. "Then it's bullshit."

"You think you gotta protect me, is that it? Think I'm not good enough to handle myself? That I need the mighty Captain America to watch out for me?"

"Lay off, Bucky."

"Don't tell me what to do."

Steve responded by getting to his feet and simply walking away. Bucky spent a couple of minutes trying to calm down, scrubbing away the blood on his metal hand with more force than strictly necessary, before deciding that he wasn't about to let Steve escape that easily. Gritting his teeth, he followed him into the cargo hold.

Steve had apparently also spent the time washing off. Most of the blood on his face was gone — though there was plenty left in his hair — and he was now grimacing as he put a butterfly bandage over the cut on his temple.

Bucky should've done that for him; should've been there to help, instead of trying to start a fight.

"Why did you do it?" The question was the same, but this time his voice came out quiet and plaintive. He wished he could ask Steve to give him another hug. And that was stupid, wasn't it? _He_ wasn't the one who'd been hurt this time — but he just needed to feel the warmth of Steve's body against his own; needed to feel the steady beat of his heart.

He'd half expected Steve to give in and finally answer. Instead, he slammed the first aid kit shut with enough force to dent it. "Just drop it already! For your own sake, if not for mine."

Oh. So it really _was_ about Steve not trusting Bucky to be able to handle himself. It hurt to hear, it really did, but he couldn't let that show. He focused on the anger, bringing it back up to the surface as he fired off a sneer. "Have it your way, then. I know why you did it anyway."

"Good," Steve snarled, "then I don't need to fucking answer you, now do I?"

And that was _it_. Before he knew what he was doing he had Steve pinned up against the wall. Steve reacted instinctively, grabbing his shoulders and yanking him down to meet the upward arc of his knee.

Bucky doubled over, clutching his gut and coughing — and Steve immediately let go off him. "Shit," he hissed, "I'm _sorry_ , I didn't mean-"

Bucky didn't let him finish, surging up to meet that earnest goddamn face with his fist.

They grappled for dominion and then, without really knowing who initiated the contact, Bucky found himself to be kissing Steve. He tasted like blood and desperation and everything that was still right in Bucky's life.

Steve's arms went around his waist, hauling him in. Their bodies were pressed against each other, one flush line, and Bucky could feel a distinct hardness pressing into his hip.

Closer, he wanted — _needed_ — to get closer, to feel heated skin under his fingers. He released his fisted grip on Steve's shirt and let his hands travel down the muscular chest. Steve's answering moan went straight to his groin.

He unzipped Steve's pants and, teasingly, ran a finger just beneath the waistband of Steve's boxers. He'd expected to draw another gorgeous sound from Steve, but was instead rewarded by the crushing force of his lips, kissing Bucky within an inch of his life.

Steve broke off the kiss and let his head fall forward, head nestling against Bucky's throat. He licked at the exposed jugular, leaving behind a patch of wet skin that grew warm with each panted puff of air, and cool a split second later, with each indrawn breath.

Bucky was so hard he _ached_. Wanting to return the favor, he plunged his hand down Steve's boxers and gripped his cock. Steve's teeth sank into the juncture between his neck and shoulder, hard enough to draw blood, judging by the feel of something warm running down his collarbone.

He tightened his grip on Steve's shaft, pumping up and down a few times before moving his thumb to tease the slit, loving the feel of pre-come beneath his finger. Without thinking he moved his left hand to tug at Steve's balls — Steve let out a sharp gasp, making him realize what he'd done. He snatched his hand away, horrified.

"Sorry, I-"

"No, fuck, _don't stop_ ," Steve groaned. "Felt good — just a bit cold, wasn't expecting it — but so damn good, Buck."

Swallowing, Bucky moved his hand back. Steve rewarded him with another kiss, but it wasn't like the previous kisses; this one was languid and so very tender. It made something warm coil in Bucky's belly that had nothing to do with his arousal.

Steve soon shuddered, clearly close to release. "Wait," he said, voice wrecked. He let go of Bucky to unzip his pants. "You, too."

Steve stroked him gently, as he bent his head to recapture Bucky's lips. It should be embarrassing, to so easily be brought to the edge, almost even tipped over, but Bucky didn't even _care_ — it was perfect, no one had ever touched or kissed him like this, and it was Steve. Steve, the best man he'd ever known. Steve, whom he loved.

As far as epiphanies went, it was kinda anticlimactic. No wonder, really; it was an old, old feeling — even if he'd never quite found the words for it until now.

He moved their hands together, lacing his fingers with Steve's and encircling both of their cocks. Steve's breath hitched, and then he was coming. That was enough to push Bucky off the edge, as well.

They stood huddled together for a long time, breathing heavily. Steve was the first to break the silence.

"I gotta sit down. My knees are about to buckle."

Bucky reluctantly let go, and Steve slid down the wall to sit on the floor. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back.

The wet towel Steve had used to clean up with was stained red, but it'd have to do. Bucky grabbed it and kneeled down in front of Steve, gently cleaning him up. He wished he had the guts to press a kiss to the now-soft flesh, but it might've just been sex to Steve — an outlet for his pent-up frustration, not to mention a natural segue from the adrenaline of a battle — and doing something like that would be much, much too telling.

As he tucked Steve back in his boxers he felt watched, and he lifted his head to meet Steve's blue eyes.

"Not quite how I'd planned on telling you," Steve whispered.

Bucky frowned. "Tell me what?"

"...Don't you already know?"

"Can't say I do," Bucky replied, giving himself a quick scrub before zipping up his pants. He scooted forward to sit next to Steve. "How about you just say it?"

"Gotta spell it out for you, huh? You always were slow on the uptake," Steve chuckled, then winced as it pulled his split lip. Despite the ribbing, it was easy to see that he was nervous as hell.

"Yeah, well, that's why you like having me around — makes you look less stupid."

Steve's smile faded. He screwed his eyes shut, taking a deep, shaky breath. "No, Bucky, that's not why I like having you around. It's because I love you."

It was strange, hearing those words. It made him feel warm, like he was basking in the sun — but it was unexpected and scary at the same time. He knew he was not worthy of Steve's love, but oh, he _wanted_ to be. He'd do his best to earn it, however long it took him.

Perhaps misinterpreting his silence, Steve hung his head as his eyes slid open. "Look," he started, and Bucky hurried to cut him off.

"I'd die for you, without hesitation. That might not mean much; my life is pretty damn worthless," he said, holding up a hand when it looked like Steve was going to protest. "Let me finish."

Steve's lips pressed together, sullenly, but he nodded.

"But what's more," Bucky continued, "is the fact that I'd live for you. Despite everything I've done, and despite what they made me into, I — I _want_ to live. I want to live so that I can be with you, Steve. Because I love you, too."

"Oh, _Bucky_." Steve tipped his head forward, bringing their foreheads together.

"So don't take away my reason for living, yeah?" Bucky said, voice breaking. "Please don't do anything like that again."

"I could say the same thing to you, y'know. Don't think I didn't notice you goading Popov into turning his gun on you instead."

"Guess we're quite the pair," Bucky admitted.

"The best."

Unable to resist any longer, Bucky angled his head to press a soft kiss to Steve's lips. Steve let out a low sound and deepened the kiss, though it remained gentle and slow.

The plane shook, apparently entering a stretch of turbulence. Bucky pulled back, inwardly cursing. That was bound to make Steve feel bad.

But no, there was no sign whatsoever of that now-familiar tenseness — his eyes were bright and shining with happiness, and there was a wide, kinda dorky smile on his face that Bucky loved.

Laughter bubbled up his throat, making it difficult to speak. "So that's what it took to distract you!"

Steve looked confused for a second, then a fond smile spread across his lips. "You know, if I hadn't already been head over heels, your attempts to help me would've had me falling madly in love with you. Thanks, pal."

Bucky grinned, an unfamiliar feeling of pride swelling in his chest. His mission had finally been a success, and it was one he was truly happy to have completed.

The plane lurched again.

"So," Steve drawled, "why don't you give me another kiss to get my mind off-"

He didn't get to finish his request; Bucky more than eager to fulfill it.

**Author's Note:**

> The book that Bucky is reading from in the third section is "Hearts Of Three", by Jack London. It's great fun, so I definitely recommend checking it out if you're not already familiar with it.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Comments of any kind will be cherished ♥


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